


I Like 'Em Sweet

by golden_gardenias



Series: Prompt Fills [3]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Dorks in Love~, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-02 20:33:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2825258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/golden_gardenias/pseuds/golden_gardenias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on an anonymous prompt: ian and mickey + flirting openly</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Like 'Em Sweet

**Author's Note:**

> sorry this took me so long, anon! i was going through some stuff and couldn't write anything happy for a while (and this still has some angst in it, whoops). i decided to go with other characters watching them flirt, and i guess it got kinda long? sorry if that's a problem. also i'm not entirely sure what constitutes flirting, so i just equated it with being cute in some parts.
> 
> so, um, merry christmas, if you celebrate it. if you don't, have a lovely day XD this doesn't really make sense, but i hope you enjoy it anyway. and irrelevant title is irrelevant

**Svetlana  
** *********

She'd been watching them for some time now, and she was willing to admit that at first she hadn't understood.

When Terry had called her that day she didn't commit the faces of the bloody boys in front of her to memory, simply filed them away like she did with everyone else who came to her--except for the ones who made themselves memorable, the ones like Terry, who were rough and mean and kept coming back for more.  Finding out she was pregnant had been terrifying, because she knew it was his, it  _had_ to be his, that bloody, broken boy Terry had called her to his house for.  He was the only one she'd never used a condom with--she  _always_ used condoms, even for blowjobs--and  _of course_ that one time had to result in a baby.  But at least she hadn't contracted anything from him, wouldn't burn and itch like so many others she worked with did, wouldn't waste away to nothing like a few of her friends already had.

But shit, a baby?  She was barely feeding herself now, and she couldn't get rid of it--that much had been drilled into her head by the church her mother took her to all those years ago, and if there was only one thing she could do to honor her mother, it would be this.  And even if she wanted to, there's no way she would've been able to save up in time for it to still be a clump of cells.

So she'd had to call Terry, stammer it out over the phone, her accent thickening in her nervousness; _"_ _That boy, boy on couch...I have baby."_  There was silence on the other end, and waiting for his response made her nauseous, moreso than the morning sickness.   _"We'll take care of it,"_ he'd said gruffly.  Her hand flew to rest above her navel, where she imagined the life inside her to be growing.   _"No, I...I keep.  No get rid of."_  He sighed, and she could see him taking a drag of a cigarette, like he did when he watched her undress.   _"Alright,"_ he sighed,  _"I'll take care of it."_  He hung up, and a few weeks later she was married.

The boy with orange hair had been there, glaring viciously from his seat among the guests before he was pushed out by another boy sometime during the reception. His presence made her uneasy, but she didn't know why.

The next time she saw him he was sprawled on their bed, passed out; her husband was watching him with a look he'd never given her before, and that was when she realized she needed to rethink things.  This interest in Orange Boy could derail her already rocky marriage, jeopardize the future she'd been promised by Terry, leave her homeless, penniless, hopeless.  So she did the only thing she could do--drove him away with a claw hammer, out of their home and (hopefully) their lives.

But all that did was make things worse, and she could feel Mickey and the financial security he (barely) provided slipping through her fingers with each night he spent away from her.  Then he was born, her little Yevgeny, a small, sickly thing that shivered and cried.   _"500 dollars tomorrow, or I tell him."_

He'd complied, but not before a bag of too-big baby clothes appeared on her bed, smelling faintly of Orange Boy's house.  The gesture confused her, and while she was grateful for having more to wrap her son in, she kept herself on guard; Americans had a saying about gifts, but she couldn't remember the wording.  Something about horses.

She'd lost her leverage completely at Yevgeny's christening celebration, and yet, looking at them now, she couldn't find it in herself to regret it.

Orange Boy-- _Ian_ , she reminded herself--didn't seem to have the same problem with Yevgeny that Mickey did, and willingly interacted with him whenever Mickey struggled.  He'd explained things to her one night while Mickey slept, talking about that day with faraway eyes, and she decided to to listen to him when he told her not to push.   _"You can't force him into this.  It's difficult enough seeing him everyday; don't make him touch him."_

Now they were sitting at the kitchen table, Yevgeny in Orange Boy's-- _" **Ian.**  He has a fuckin' name.  He uses yours, you use his."_ \--lap, trying to wrap his fingers around the spoonful of applesauce being dangled in front of his face and babbling.  Ian-- _"I don't really mind, Mick.  It's fine having a nickname."_ \--cooed back to him, stroking one of his chubby cheeks and laughing at his giggles.  She watched Mickey watch them, an unreadable expression on his face: nervous and hesitant, with some guilt thrown in.  "How do you..." he started quietly, trailing off.  She flipped the page of her newspaper and sipped her coffee, trying to signal that she was engrossed in her reading and not at all eavesdropping on what was sure to be something private.  "How do you do it?" he finally finished.  She chanced a look up to see him biting his lip.

Ian shrugged.  "It's not always easy, but I can handle it."

"But  _how?"_ Mickey pressed.

"I guess it's easier for me to separate it?  I mean--" he cut himself off, and she waited while he struggled to articulate his thoughts.  "I know what you see when you look at him, and I see it too, sometimes.  But I get to see the stuff that you can't see, too."

"Stuff like what?"

He hesitated, spooning more applesauce into the baby's mouth to stall.  "Like...Like how he makes the same faces you do sometimes.  And how you have the same eyebrows and cheeks.  And how you're both tiny."

"Fuck off," Mickey chuckled.

"And you've both got cute little legs."

"Will you shut up about my legs already?"

But Ian plowed on, seeming to forget that Svetlana was there.  "And you both taste good when I nibble on your thighs."

She arched an eyebrow and cleared her throat, setting her mug down with more force than necessary and ruffling the newspaper to re-announce her presence while still pointedly avoiding looking at either of them.  Their faces were pink, and they lapsed into a somewhat awkward silence.

Mickey couldn't pull his eyes away from Ian and Yevgeny, though, sneaking glances at them every so often.  "You're good at that," he says shyly.

"What, nibbling on your thighs?"

She rolled her eyes at him, trying to make herself focus on an article about the US's relationship with Cuba.  "No, asshole.  At...that.  The baby shit."

Yevgeny chose that moment to start banging his spoon against the table, and Ian gently loosened his grip on the utensil.  "Had a lot of practice," he replied easily.

Mickey's expression softened, and he leaned forward in his chair to grab Ian by his t-shirt and pull him closer.  They kissed deeply, almost losing themselves in it, before Mickey backed off.  "Thank you," he whispered.

The love in their eyes made her wish she'd decided to watch the news in the living room rather than read about it at the table with them.

A few hours later they were dressed and trying to decide where to go for lunch.  "How about that place Mandy's working at?" Ian suggested.

"What makes you think I wanna see my sister?" Mickey demanded.

Ian ignored his objection, a wicked smile forming on his face.  "Hey, you know that thing we talked about?"

"We talk about a lotta  _things,_ Ian.  You're gonna have to be more specific than that."

"You know, the hand thing," he said meaningfully.

"Oh, the  _hand_ thing.  Well now that you've cleared that up--" _  
_

"The _hand holding_ thing," he clarified.

"You negotiate hand holding?" Svetlana asked from the couch.  "Very odd."

"Don't judge," Mickey grumbled, blushing.  "C'mon, I'm hungry."

She shook her head at them as they left, turning to the baby in her arms and cooing to him in Russian.  "Your daddies are  _crazy,_ aren't they?  Yes they are!"

 

* * *

 

 **Mandy  
** *******

She was a couple hours into her shift when they came in.

At first she was annoyed, because of all the places for them to have a lunch date--those happy motherfuckers, rubbing it in her face--they  _had_ to pick her piece of shit diner and sit in  _her_ section with smug smiles on their faces that told her they knew exactly what they were doing.

"Welcome to the Waffle Cottage.  My name is Mandy and I'll be your server this afternoon," she grumbled out quickly.  "What do you want?"

"Well I'd like a smile, for one," Ian said, beaming up at her like he was cute or something.

"Fuck off," she replied

Mickey snorted at them.  "There goes your tip."

"You can go fuck off right with him, then.  I don't need your shit."

Her voice was a bit harder than she'd intended, and Ian furrowed his brows at her tone.  "You okay?" he asked.

The concern in his voice softened her a bit, and she could see Mickey narrow his eyes at her in her periphery.  "Yeah, I'm fine," she sighed.  "There's just this one asshole.  One of my regulars."

"What'd he do?" Mickey asked, leaning forward.

She waved him off.  "Just the usual stuff.  Comes in during my shift, sits in my section--you know, I think he has my schedule memorized?  Allie told me he's never here on my days off."

Mickey's eyes dart around the room, trying to figure out who she's talking about.  "What did he do?" Ian repeated.

"Just tries to hit on me, that's all.  Sometimes he pinches my ass, but it's not like I'm not used to that, right?"

She could tell from the look Ian gives her that he picks up on her bitterness, and Mickey's jaw was clenched so tight she was sure he'd grind his teeth to dust.  "Which one is he?" he grits out.

"I can handle it, it's fine.  Just tell me what you want."

"What I _want_ is to know who that fucker--"

"He'll have a bacon cheeseburger with extra fries, and I'll have some chicken tenders with a bowl of mac and cheese," Ian supplied.  Mickey glared at him, but she jotted down their orders, relieved.

"Anything to drink?"

"Root beer for him, sprite for me."

"I'll be right back," she said, tucking her notepad and pen into her front pocket.

She could hear them start to bicker as she walked away, and she smiled at the familiar sound.  It dropped as soon as she was flagged down by Wendell the Wank Stain and his shitty friends, and she barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes.  "How's everything going, guys?" she asked with forced politeness.

"I know how it could be going even better," Wank Stain answered, winking.

His friends laughed, and the beginnings of a major headache started in the center of her forehead.  "Sorry, Wendell, you know that's not on the menu."  God, she hated this job and the fake smile she had to put on for these creeps.  "Perhaps I could interest you in something that is?  Our chocolate cake is to  _die_ for."   _Especially after I put arsenic in the frosting, fucker._

"Now Maddy," he'd been calling her that since his first time here, thinking it was some cutesy inside joke they had.  It wasn't.  "you know there's only one cake here I'm interested in eating."  His hand snaked up the back of her skirt, licking his lips while his friends hooted.

She heard a fist slam onto a table behind her and turned her head to see her brother and best friend watching intently, both tensed and ready to spring.  She shook her head slightly, sidestepping Wank Stain and pulling out her notepad.  "How about lemon, then?" she asked cheerily through gritted teeth.

"Oh that sounds good.  I'll have some, dear," one of the friends volunteered.  He was quieter than the rest, and always looked uncomfortable when Wank Stain smiled at her, but he still didn't speak up for her.

"And I'll take a strawberry milkshake," came another.

"Great.  I'll get them right out to you."

Mickey and Ian were still watching her when she turned around, and she gave them a weak smile before heading back to place their orders.

When she returned with their sodas, their eyes were trained on Wank Stain's table.  "Fuck's his name?" Mickey asked, ignoring the drink she placed in front of him.

"Wendell," she said tiredly.

"Even sounds like a douchebag, christ.  How long's that been goin' on for?"

"Couple months," she shrugged.

Ian made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat.  "The fuck is wrong with straight guys, anyway?"

Mickey snorted.  "You kiddin' me?  Gay guys pull that shit too, or have you blocked out being molested every weekend?  Not to mention they're grabbin' boobs all the time, like what is even up with that?"

"The club wasn't that bad," he protested.  "And at least they had to pay to get close enough to touch me; Mandy's putting up with this for a lousy 15%."

"More like five, the cheap bastards."

"They don't even tip?!" Mickey asked, outraged.

"I know," she returned.  "The nerve of them, right?"

"Don't mock me, you jerk," he grumbled.  "That his red pickup in the lot?" he asked, jabbing his thumb at the window behind him.

She nodded, and he muttered a dark, "Figures," under his breath before asking Ian to take down the plates.  "No, whatever it is you're planning on doing, don't.  Stop it right now."

He ignored her, copying the information into his phone and texting someone.  "Not Carl, please," Ian said.  "As much as I'm sure he'd enjoy it, I don't think Fiona can handle another run-in with the cops."

"Relax, I know."  He snapped his phone shut a moment later.  "Colin and Iggy are on it."

She rolled her eyes.  "Don't let those dumbasses get in trouble, alright?  And your food'll be done in like fifteen minutes."

The milkshake was ready, sitting on a counter waiting to be picked up, but she decided to wait until the cake was done to head over.  No need to go there more than necessary.

While she waited, she settled back against the counter to watch Mickey and Ian interact.  They were focused more on each other now than Wank Stain, exchanging stupid smiles over the rims of their glasses.  Ian stretched his legs out to Mickey's side of the table--completely on purpose, no matter how he tried to play it off--to hook his ankle with one of Mickey's.  The cake came just as he toed off his sneaker to run his foot up her brother's calf, and she eagerly turned away from Mickey's surprised spluttering.

"There you are, hot stuff," Wank Stain greeted her.  "Was beginnin' to think you'd forgotten about me."

His ridiculous pout made her want to sneer, but she held it back.  "Oh, Wan--Wendell, I could never forget about you," she simpered.

The two-ding signal for her order jingled from the counter, and she backed away abruptly.  "Let me know when you're ready for your bill."

Their food smelled delicious, and she ached for her lunch break.  "Here," she said shortly, swiping one of Mickey's fries before he could add pepper.  He didn't even bother protesting, used to it by now.  "Fuckfaces get here yet?"

Ian inclined his head as he tore one of his tenders in half.  "Just pulled up."

He handed her one of the halves to nibble on while they watched her brothers nonchalantly approach Wank Stain's truck, double-check their phones, set down a box--was it moving?--and proceed to slash his tires and key a message she couldn't quite make out into the side.  "Why'd they only do three?" Mandy asked.

"If they do all four, his insurance covers it," Ian explained.  "Three, and he has to pay out of pocket."

"And what's in the box?"

"Skunk," Mickey replied offhandedly.  Colin pulled back the tarp over the truck bed and opened the box to let the animal out before quickly covering it again.  "It was Iggy's idea."

"He's nothing if not innovative," she deadpanned.

Ian snorted and handed her his mac and cheese and a spoon.  "When's your break?" he asked, holding his cup out for her to sip from.

"Another hour and a half.  God, I hate this place.  Even if this mac and cheese is divine," she said around a mouthful.

"I know, right?" Ian agreed.  "How do they get it so creamy?"

Mickey shook his head.  "Do you mind?" he asked pointedly.  "I would very much appreciate it if my date paid more attention to me than to the  _help_."

"Oh, so now I'm the 'help.'  Can you believe this?  You wound me, Mickey."

But Ian was too busy giving Mickey heart-eyes to listen to her.  "'Date?'  Is this a  _date,_ Mick?"

Mickey's cheeks were reddening, and he took a sip of his root beer to avoid the question.

"Are we having a lunch date?  One where we gaze deeply into each other's eyes and hold hands over the table?"

He choked on his soda, setting it down with a shaky hand.  "We held hands in the parking lot, you greedy fucker.  You've reached your quota."

"Oh come on, Mick," Ian pouted.

"Nope.  I told you to ration and choose wisely, but you just had to go all in.  Now we've got the whole day in front of us, and you don't get any hand-holding."

"That shouldn't even count!  It was for like, thirty seconds."

Mickey shrugged.  "That's not my problem.  I told you you could hold my hand once a day; you never stipulated how long that one time had to last."

Ian groaned dramatically and leaned back in his seat.  "I hate you," he mumbled.

Now it was Mickey's turn for the heart eyes, and she just barely managed not to gag.  "Later, losers.  I gotta go make some money.  Don't fuck in the bathroom, I might have to clean it up."

Mickey scowled as she swiped another one of his fries and dragged it through ketchup.  "You're  _definitely_ not getting a tip now."

"Oh please," she scoffed, "I expect 30% from you jerkwads for the excellent service I provided you with," she said as she walked away.

"Yeah, you'll get 30% of Svetlana's income tax, how 'bout that?" Mickey retorted.

 

* * *

 

 **Kev &Vee  
***********

"Hey, just the gays I was hopin' to see!" Kev greeted boisterously as Ian and Mickey walked into the Alibi.

Mickey rolled his eyes.  "For the last time, Kev: we don't know anything about fashion, so stop coming to us for styling tips."

"But I can tell you right now that you shouldn't have left the house in that shirt," Ian added, wrinkling his nose.

"Ha ha, you guys are hilarious," he deadpanned, handing them their drinks.  "I wasn't gonna ask about fashion, but what the fuck's wrong with my shirt?"

"It's not really your color, babe," Veronica said as she came from the back room.  "I told you earlier that it washes you out."

"I don't know what you guys are talking about, I look  _good._  Mickey, help me out here.  You'd tap this, right?"

"Uh, no," he answered shortly.

"The fuck, why not?  I'm hot, right Vee?"

"The hottest, baby," she said, patting his shoulder somewhat condescendingly.  "I can hardly keep my hands off you."

"Plus I got a magic dick," he tacked on excitedly, thrusting into the air and pointing to his crotch.  "Tell me you don't want a piece of that action, man."

Mickey rubbed his temples, trying to resist the urge to drink himself into oblivion.  "Ian's dick is plenty magic, Kev, thanks."

"No, you don't know what you're missing!  Baby, tell Mickey about my magic dick."

"Oh my god," Mickey muttered, letting his head fall onto the bar while Ian looked on in amusement.  "Kill me."

"Ian, what about you, huh?" Kev shifted his hips so that he was thrusting in Ian's direction instead.  "You want some?"

"Hell no, that things's not coming anywhere near me."

"You're damn right," Vee said darkly, narrowing her eyes at her husband.  "Will you stop harassing the poor boys?  They came in to drink, not fend off your advances."

"I'm not advancing, I'm just asking for honest answers!"

"We're not gonna fuck you, Kev, jesus!" Mickey said loudly, having reached the end of his rope.  "I am getting _more_ than enough dick from Ian, and he gets _plenty_ of ass, trust me.  And if anybody's fucking Ian, it's gonna be me, not your wrinkly dick."

"Hey!"

"Just get me another drink, would you?" he snapped, holding his glass out for a refill.  "And stop trying to get into my pants."

 

* * *

 

 **The Gallaghers  
** ****************

Mickey was muttering darkly to himself when he stormed into the Gallagher house, contrasting comically with Ian's easy stride and wide grin.

"Everything okay?" Fiona asked, trying not to smile.

"Yeah, everything's fine," Ian answered.  "Kev was just flirting again, that's all."

"Can we get this show on the road, please?" Mickey asked impatiently.  "We came here for pizza and movies, and so far none of those is happening."

"Jesus, will you relax?  We only ordered ten minutes ago."

Mickey rolled his eyes, going to the kitchen for a beer.  "Did you at least pick a movie?"

"It was Debbie's turn to choose, and she picked  _The Notebook._ "

He choked on his sip, almost spewing the beverage all over the living room floor.  "No."

"Oh come on, it's a good movie."

"It's based on a Nicholas Sparks novel!" he protested immediately.

"What's that got to do with anything?"

Ian sighed and made his way over to the couch, knowing that there was a tsunami coming for them.

"Yeah, what do you have against love, Mickey?" Debbie asked.

"That story is  _not_  about love," he said vehemently.  "It's intense infatuation turning into obsessive co-dependency, is what it is."

"What are you talking about, it's one of the most romantic movies I've ever seen!"

"You're thirteen, of course you think it's romantic.  What the fuck's romantic about a guy threatening to jump off a ferris wheel if a girl doesn't go on a date with him, huh?  I'll tell you what, nothing.  It's fucking shitty.  And abusive, probably.  I mean, who's to say he wouldn't do the same thing if she wanted to end things, right?  'Allie, I love you so much!  But if you leave me, I'll run my car off the road.'  Like what the fuck is that?!"

"But he built her a house!" Debbie countered.  "They weren't even together, and he still built her her dream house."

"So he became a carpenter, whoop-de-friggin-do.  Doesn't change the fact that he's an emotionally abusive asshole."

"But he took care of her when she was losing her mind!  They  _died together,_ Mickey!"

"No,  _she_ died, and then he was like, 'Welp, I no longer have a reason to live.  It's not like I've got kids and grandkids I could spend time with to help mourn the loss of their beloved grandmother.  Nah, I'll just die with her and give them more pain to sift through.'  And that's the end of the movie."

"Fine!  Why don't we just watch  _The Time Traveller's Wife?"_

"Why don't I just pluck my own eyes out?  That movie's terrible."

"If you're in the mood for Rachel McAdams and romance," Ian interrupted lazily, "then why don't we just watch  _The Vow?"_

Mickey whirled around to face him, eyebrows at the ready.  "If we're watching a Channing Tatum movie, it's gonna be  _Magic Mike,_ Ian.  Jesus, where is your head at?"

Ian put up his hands in surrender.  "Sorry, my mistake.  How about  _About Time?_  Rachel McAdams, romance, and time travel.  Triple threat.  And bonus Bill Nighy."

Mickey and Debbie eyed each other before silently coming to a truce.  "Fine," Debbie conceded.  " _About Time_ it is."

Their pizza arrived then, and Ian noticed that his brothers weren't thundering down the stairs for their slices.  "Where is everyone?"

"Lip's doing something with Amanda, Carl's doing something with Frank, and Liam's with Sheila."

"Isn't that convenient," Mickey grumbled.

"So we thought we'd have a girls' night!" Debbie explained happily.

"We aren't girls."

"Yeah, but you're gay.  That makes you honorary girls."

"Our names are not Kurt Hummel and Blaine Anderson, Annie.  And do I look like Emmett Honeycutt to you?"

"Knock it off, you guys, the movie's starting," Fiona reprimanded.

Mickey settled next to Ian on the couch, face still set into a scowl.  "Fuckin' 'honorary girls.'  Can you believe that shit?"

"It's unbelievable," Ian drawled, sipping his beer.

"And on top of the whole _Notebook_ thing, too."

"The nerve."

Debbie caught Fiona's eye from her seat in the armchair before pulling her phone out to text her sister. _Ian's totally got his "yes dear" face on. it's like mickey doesn't even notice._

Fiona snickered after sending her reply.   _Probably doesn't. it's a shame, ian's not even listening to him._

They watched their brother continue to nod along to Mickey's grumbling, focused entirely on the movie.  After Mickey finished his spiel, Ian got up to get him another slice of pizza and a fresh beer.  Mickey smiled at him and whispered a warm "Thanks" as he sat down.  Ian's answering smile was bright.  "No problem.  I know how worked up this stuff gets you."

The sisters wore matching expressions of confusion.   _So was he ignoring him or???_

_I don't know, but either way that was smooth._

Ian and Mickey fell off their radar as the film progressed, not popping back onto it until Ian wrapped his arm around Mickey and tugged the smaller boy into his chest.

_!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_

_< 3 <3 <3_ 

During particularly poignant scenes, Ian would glance down at Mickey and smile, sometimes even pressing soft kisses to the top his his head.

Click!

Mickey's head snapped up at the sound, eyes zeroing in on Debbie.  "Did you just take a picture of us?"

"No," she scoffed.  "Why would I do that?"

Despite her lie, she sent it to Ian after the two had gone back to the Milkovich house, and he was unable to resist setting it as his lock screen.

**Author's Note:**

> not my best, i know, but lie to me and tell me you liked it anyway? or be brutally honest and tell me to shove it idk


End file.
